Will That Be All?
by M. Monster
Summary: Kinkmeme that just evolved; Modern-day AU; Federico/Kadar, Ezio/Leonardo and Desmond/Shaun preslash; Kadar watched the stranger's ass move in his tight jeans. How can his knees bend? Then he bent over and Kadar's head thunked against the register.
1. Will That Be All?

**Will That Be All?**

_I - Will That Be All?_

**

* * *

**

The bell on the door went "dingaling" as it opened and a man, maybe his mid twenties, stepped in, and went trolling right to the pharmaceutical section of the store. Kadar watched, blearily, focusing on anything but the textbook before him. His head fell forward to gaze at the page laid out before him. It was all some crazy moon-script to him, crap. He saw an auburn head ducking in and out of aisles for a couple of minutes.

Kadar blinked tiredly, watching the stranger's ass move in his tight jeans. _How can his knees bend?_ Then he bent over and Kadar thought he could hear the fabric straining to contain that absolutely fabulous ass. He closed his eyes and his head _thunk_ed against the register tiredly.

"Hey, mi amico, you alive?" Said the customer, and Kadar jerked awake.

"U-uh-yeah, um, sorry," He said, rubbing his face. "Will that be al-" and he looked at the purchases. Condoms. _Big_ condoms, the kind he thought his brother lied about needing all the time, because _he_ certainly wasn't post-magnum material. There was lube, which didn't look like enough for the size condoms he was purchasing. Whipped cream (Kadar didn't know they carried whipped cream because it was always gone whenever he checked). A "Frozen Delite" (the huge, like, trillion ounce ones, that were slurpees no matter _what_ you called them). Beer. Latex gloves- _what_. He tried not to think about the gloves.

"Hey?" The man said, waving his hand in front of Kadar's face, and he blinked.

"S-sorry, uhm, will that be all?" Kadar asked, ringing up the items.

The stranger thought about it, scratching his chin (which had a goatee on it. And it looked fucking hot. God, he was more tired than he though). "Eh. Sì, ciò che è buono. You need to see my ID?" At Kadar's hesitant 'yes,' he flipped open his wallet and dug out a drivers license. _Federico Auditore_, oh my god, he's _Italian_. _He probably **is** hung like a fucking horse,_ Kadar thought, and tried not to blush while ringing up the condoms.

He thought he did amicably, even with- _Federico_- leering at him, winking, making suggestive comments.

"Um. Anything else, sir?" Kadar asked (mostly mumbled), as his boss ordered him to do every time. Federico's gaze swept the store and then landed on Kadar again.

"I'll have one of these to go," He leered.

"Excuse me?" Kadar blinked, maybe he was hallucinating and there wasn't a fucking _gorgeous Italian stallion hitting on him at the register_. Federico's hand went to fiddle with Kadar's name-tag and his hand swooped up to trace the pulse-point on Kadar's neck. His breathing hitched.

"One of these," His hand tightened briefly to indicate he wanted _Kadar_, holy shit. He had to be dreaming. It was what, three in the morning? Totally dreaming. "To go. Now, preferably." He leaned forward and nibbled Kadar's ear (and he almost _melted_), tongue flicking out briefly to taste skin. Kadar gasped. "I have a lovely car," Federico promised.

"Y-Yes! Um, yes. Yeah, it's... I get off soon," Kadar said, mentally slapping his forehead. _My god you're so fucking awkward, Kadar._

"Me too," Federico said suggestively, and he took his purchases. "I'll be waiting,"

Kadar melted against the cigarette display, watching the ass sway as Federico exited. "Y-yeah."

* * *

Federico _was_ waiting the half-hour that it took Kadar's replacement to arrive. In a BMW- a fucking _BMW 750i_, holy shit. Kadar was delirious in his dreams, or he was truly going to be fucked (oh god, he _hoped_,) in the back of a BMW. This was absolutely surreal. Federico was stretched back in the driver's seat and he looked up, beaming when he saw Kadar advance toward his car (maybe he was just ecstatic at the fact that Kadar was removing his horrible work shirt).

"_Kadar_," he breathed, when Kadar sat in the passenger seat, and he pulled Kadar forward by the front of his undershirt to kiss. Kadar melted again, reaching up to fist his hands in Federico's (red, he noted absently) shirt to keep him there. He felt a hand open his pants and Kadar's hand trailed over Federico's back (holy shit, Kadar thought giddily, feeling more awake every minute, he's fucking _ripped_). Federico's hand gripped his quickly hardening cock.

"I want to fuck you, Kadar, per favore?" He breathed into Kadar's ear, similar to the way he initially propositioned Kadar in the fucking store. Christ, he was getting harder.

"Ahhng," said Kadar, writhing against Federico, who moaned response. He tossed Kadar into the back (_somehow_ he did. Kadar was fuzzy on the details of _getting there_, just that he was _there_), and after cursing up an Italian storm, Federico was in the back, shirt gone and pulling Kadar's legs and putting them around his waist, and god, he was opening his pants-

"Così bella, Kadar," He said, sultry and sexy and _fuck he has body hair_, and Kadar thought he had died and gone to Valhalla or some sex-heaven. "Tu mi appartieni," He hissed, and Kadar gasped again, unable to do anything but grip the upholstery- maybe that was the car door? Federico was a scramble of limbs as he worked to get his tight (_tight_) jeans off his hips and Kadar felt a bit panicked when he saw Federico's cock.

"Oh my God," Kadar squeaked, but that didn't deter the other man from trying to wrench Kadar from his pants and boxers. "You're putting _that_ in me?"

Federico leered again. "That's the plan, pretty." He thrust his hips shallowly and just _feeling_ that cock against himself just made it sexy. Er. Sexier. But Kadar was still oddly terrified. He heard Federico utter a victorious "ah-ha!" as he pushed down Kadar's jeans and undergarments. He was flipped and Kadar gasped as well.

"F-Federico, wait-" He tried, struggling, but the Italian man simply sealed their hips together, naked cock nested on his bare ass, frotting. Kadar groaned again helplessly. "H-how-ngh,"

Federico, bless him, understood what Kadar was trying to mangle out. "I will just-nn, yes-have to prepare you extensively." With that said, Federico moved away far enough to press a finger into Kadar, who _moaned_. My god, it's like four in the fucking morning and I'm going to get fucked in the back seat of an BMW at the parking lot of my work place by a sexy Italian with a huge cock. Kadar shuddered as he felt another finger in him, stretching, probing, and he bucked back on them.

He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that he was on his hands and knees with a stranger preparing his ass, but god, it felt _amazing_, and Kadar arched his back at the delicious third finger wedging inside of him, shooting pleasure up his spine like lightning. "Amico, you worry about this (shallow thrust against leg, hard cock throbbing) inside of you but you welcome my fingers?" Kadar flushed at the implications, not willing to admit he hadn't thought that far ahead, actually. He was pretty sure he hadn't thought _any_ of this through. A quick, panicky thought of _oh my god I'm turning into my brother_ passed through his head briefly before he felt the fingers withdraw.

Foil tearing, grunts and sulky comments in Italian, and he felt the latex press against his hole and a whole new surge of hysteria, "You ready, mia bella?" Federico panted, and Kadar looked over his shoulder at him- _my god he's the epitome of **manliness**_- his hair was disheveled and sweat trickled down his neck and into his chest hair (_fuck_ Kadar thought inanely at the sight of it), and his jeans were down to mid-thigh, he looked utterly debauched and he hadn't even done anything yet. It's four in the morning and I am going to get fucked stupid, spurred by the thought, Kadar pushed himself back onto the head of the obscenely huge cock and both Kadar and Federico hissed in pleasure (maybe a bit of pain, too).

_That wasn't one of my better ideas,_ Kadar thought, wincing as Federico gripped his hips with an iron-like grip, holding him still and controlling the penetration. He entered slowly, and Kadar (wide-awake by this point) felt restless and he tried to move, to get Federico to fill him faster.

"Cazzo, Kadar, _please_," He said, sounding rather strangled and breathless. "Tight. Christ," and then Kadar could feel Federico's jeans against the back of his thighs, and his shallow rotations were sending pleasure all through him. Kadar gripped the seat tightly, closing his eyes to absorb the _fucking joy_ of the moment. _Fucking god he's completely in me_. Federico withdrew a bit, wheezing in effort, then pushed back in shortly, and Kadar saw stars again. The Italian tightened his hold on Kadar and pumped in again, harder, and again, causing him to cry out. Kadar heard fabric tear as he held tighter on the seat and pistoned against Federico with just as much fervor.

Federico pushed Kadar forward onto his arms and rammed into him steadily, and Kadar gasped, "Federico!" Before one of his clever hands reached around and fisted Kadar's erection, holding tight and making Kadar see even more stars. _Oh my god I knew Italians were brilliant_. "God, yes, j-just li-ke tha- fuck,"

"So tight, Kadar, god," And he slid out slowly and back in quickly, and Kadar writhed, gyrating his hips to bring Federico that much deeper. "So fucking tight, not going to last with you _fucking squeezing me_," Kadar's breathless laugh was interrupted by a gasp.

"N-not my fa-ult," He replied (mostly in moans) and by this point Federico had built up the rhythm so much he was slamming in and out of Kadar, making him see stars with every movement. Kadar felt his balls tighten and he whimpered, _god, not yet_, but the way Federico was thrusting and stroking and moaning against his back he couldn't help it, and he came, all over the interior of a _fucking BMW_ (he still couldn't wrap his head around that). His spasming and moaning caused a final curse from Federico and with a last thrust he came, groaning something in Italian that Kadar could not understand.

He was boneless as Federico pulled out, but he still felt a twinge of pain at the exit, watching Federico remove the condom and stare at it, confused, before stuffing it in the bag Kadar gave him earlier for his groceries. He allowed Federico to move him to the front seat and allowed the man to drive him to Federico's home. Kadar stared at Federico at the next stoplight and grinned dumbly, and Federico returned the same stupid-looking grin and squeezed his knee.

_It's five in the morning and I'm in love._


	2. Yes, That Will Be All

**Will That Be All?**

_II - Yes, That Will Be All_

_

* * *

_

Kadar didn't have class that morning- he didn't have work that night- and he was wrapped in his new Italian blanket, so yes, Kadar was upset when his phone rang at eight in the morning, after he had been asleep for only an hour. Federico groaned as Kadar elbowed him (accidentally) to scrabble for the phone on the nightstand. _Malik. Fuck me._ "Hello?" He said instead, voice scratchy from sleep and moaning.

_"Where the fuck are you, Kadar!"_ Kadar winced at the tinny squeal from the phone and he felt Federico move beneath him.

Kadar nestled back into Federico's waiting (muscular, utterly sexy) arms, and he felt the man kiss his hair. "I'm twenty years old, Malik," He grumbled.

_"That doesn't tell me WHERE the FUCK you ARE!"_ Kadar groaned, and Federico's face twitched in annoyance at the tiny wails from the phone.

"Tell him you are at your lover's house," Federico said, still not opening his eyes, but a smile was on his lips. Kadar's face broke into a huge, stupid grin, not for the first time, and he leaned up to kiss Federico- long and slow- holding the phone far from his face.

When he brought the phone closer, Malik was still ranting. _"Who was that, Kadar? **Lover**? Were you kidnapped? How fast did you develop fucking Stockholm Syndrome? Oh, Christ, do I actually need to send Altair to fucking rescue you? How in the hell did you get a lover in the span of"_ a brief pause, probably for Malik to check the time. Kadar put the phone on speaker and rested it on Federico's chest. _"fucking fourteen hours? **Why didn't you come home last night**?"_

"I said, Malik, I'm at my lover's home." Kadar said, yawning widely. He felt Federico's hand on the small of his back, rubbing soothingly.

_"You met somebody at the fucking conveinence store? For god's sake, Kadar, he better not be a fucking loser drug-addict with no job."_ Federico's grip on Kadar tightened slightly at the insinuation, but Kadar just scowled angrily.

"Don't push your problems off on me, brother."

Silence, and before Malik could articulate anything else, Kadar continued in a softer (yet unapologetic) tone. "I'll bring him by later and you can try and change my mind."

After a beat of silence this time, Malik muttered a clipped and resigned _fine._ Kadar hung up before Malik could speak again.

* * *

They were in front of the apartment complex that Kadar and his brother (and Altair, but not by invitation) lived. It was a nice building, paid for in full by the firm that Malik used to work for. Luxurious, Kadar supposed, but it was pitiful compared to Federico's own home. He glanced at his lover over top of the bimmer. Federico met his eyes and smiled.

"Kadar, do you get along with your brother?" He asked as they walked slowly (Kadar's own pace) and close together. Federico's hand ghosted over the back of his jeans.

Kadar shot Federico a _look_ out of the corner of his eye. "Yes," He admitted after a moment. "We used to be closer, but... he is quite bitter now."

"Bitter?" Federico prodded.

He shook his head. "Another time, Federico. Fifteenth floor, please,"

* * *

Altair was sitting on his ass staring at the television when Kadar entered.

"Hey squirt. Your brother has been _pissed_," He greeted. Federico hung up his jacket by the door as Kadar moved to the kitchen.

"Literally or figuratively?" He asked shortly. Federico shifted from foot to foot across the room.

Altair shrugged and muted the TV, throwing his head back on the sofa to watch Kadar upside-down. "Maybe a little bit of both? I dunno, ever since he called you this morning he went into his room cursing up a storm that would make my mother blush."

"Your mother is dead," Kadar said tiredly, putting Malik's medication back into their proper cabinet.

"I know." Altair's eyes moved to Federico, appraising him. "This your Italian stallion?"

Kadar grinned and closed the pantry with the pills and walked over to his lover. "Yes, Federico Auditore."

Altair pursed his lips and studied Federico. "Eh, he's okay, I guess." He unmuted the TV and ignored them. Kadar rolled his eyes before freezing at the sight of Malik standing in the darkened door of his bedroom.

"_Where the hell were you_? I expected you home fucking hours ago, Kadar!" He snapped, and Kadar knew he wanted to cross his arms in fury. He tried not to look at the empty sleeve.

"I said we would come by _later_, brother, but it isn't any concern of yours how long I was gone." Kadar said sourly. Malik's brow twitched in annoyance.

"Whatever. Who's _this_?" Malik asked critically, scowling impressively at Federico, who remained impassive.

"This is my b-lover, Federico Auditore," Kadar said, and he watched as Malik's glare shifted from Federico's face to the front of his pants upon hearing the Italian name.

"Malik!" He chastised at the same time as Altair. Altair continued with "be subtle!" and recieved a glare from Kadar.

"I thought I told you to get the hell out, Altair?" Malik scowled.

Altair scoffed. "You _know_ I can't do that, and it's not polite to say why in nice company."

"Nice company? It's just Kadar's _boyfriend_," he sneered, and Kadar felt a twinge of annoyance. Federico shifted closer to him and rubbed his back with a strong hand.

"Why do you always have to be such a goddamn dick about everything Kadar does? He's twenty years old, he can take care of himsel!" Altair said hotly, turning off the television.

Malik argued petulantly, "He's my younger brother! No he can't!"

"For fuck's sake, Al-Sayf!" Altair said angrily, finally snapping. "Quit pushing your problems off on fucking Kadar! He came home to introduce to you his boyfriend or lover or fling or whatever the fuck he is, and you always pull shit like this! Just stop your goddamn pity party before you push away the only two people who can stand to be fucking near you anymore! Would you rather lose your brother _and_ your fucking arm, or is there another reason why you're being a complete jackass?"

Malik stood stiffly, staring at the floor. Leave it to Altair to address nearly every problem they had been having in a less-than-appropriate fashion. Glancing back up at his brother and the tall, broad figure standing steady behind Kadar, Malik flinched.

"I... I apologize, Kadar." He said quietly, turning back into his room and shutting the door quietly. Even with Malik out of sight, Kadar still felt humiliated.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Federico," Altair said, standing. "He should be out for the night, he has already gotten his medication. You staying here?"

Kadar was staring at the floor, and Federico wrapped an arm around his shoulder and answered for him. "Yes, if it is no problem."

Altair's lips twisted in an almost-smile. It wasn't a problem. It wouldn't be a problem as long as Malik didn't think the experience was all a lucid dream later. Kadar rubbed his face, feeling weary and annoyed. Altair ruffled his hair as he passed, speaking softly.

"It'll be alright, Kadar. I would say just give him time, but I suppose it's time for a reality check."

Yeah, Kadar thought as Altair left. If that was the only thing his brother needed.


	3. Just A Little Bit More

**Will That Be All?**

_III - Just A Little Bit More_

_

* * *

_

Federico could hear the cries of his brother from the street, and immediately he knew Ezio was arguing with padre yet again.

"_You can't tell me what to do!_" Was belted out in rapid Italian as Federico entered the manor house. He hugged mamma and kissed her cheek, following her closer to the argument.

"_I can damn well tell you to do whatever I please!_" Giovanni roared in response, slamming his fist on the table angrily. "_And this **idea** of yours is utter foolishness!_"

"_It's not foolish!_" Ezio defended hotly. Federico and Maria exchanged significant glances at one another.

"What is he going on about now, mamma?" Federico asked. Maria sighed, a long and gusty sigh that was birthed after years of arguments between her husband and Ezio.

"That same thing Ezio is always on about, my child. His latest endeavor to irritate his father."

"It seems to be working," said Federico as something shattered in the next room over.

"_Cazzo, Ezio_!" More slams could be heard and Petruccio poked his head into the Red Parlor Maria and Federico occupied, close enough to hear the drama going on.

"Mamma, Claudia wanted me to tell you she is going out," He said softly, then beamed at Federico.

Maria stood sharply, glaring when Petruccio mentioned Claudia. "Oh she _is_, now? Why, that girl gives me more trouble than Ezio gives Giovanni!" She stormed out of the room toward Claudia's quarters and something shattered in Giovanni's office again. Petruccio left the parlor leaving Federico alone with his mother's tea set that nobody, sans herself, was allowed to touch. He stared at his empty teacup.

"_It's my life, I'll do what I want!_" Ezio barked out. A loud slam.

"_As long as I am paying your bills, you will do what **I say**!_" Giovanni snarled out and there was more sounds of struggle. He could faintly hear Claudia yelling at mamma toward the other end of the house.

"_I could pay my own bills if you just let me do what I want!_" More scuffling, and Federico stared at the ceiling of the parlor blandly.

"_You're going to be a lawyer! You're majoring in pre-law for a reason!_"

"_Yes, because you **wanted me to**!_" Claudia entered the parlor, sitting down in mamma's chair with a huff.

"What's this argument about?" She asked, pouring herself tea, fearless of mamma's wrath.

Federico shrugged, still staring at the ceiling. "Ezio wants to get a job that padre does not approve of, I am guessing."

Claudia deflated. "The usual, then. I suppose he already is complaining about his major?"

He chuckled dryly. "You just missed it."

Claudia's words were drowned out by Giovanni's roar, "_**No son of mine will be a model**!_" Both Federico and Claudia froze. Claudia soon broke out into peals of laughter so loud that the argument in Giovanni's office was blotted from Federico's mind.

"A model? Oh my god, he's serious," She gasped, nearly dropping the teacup she held. Federico watched, prepared to make a mad dash for it if Claudia did drop it. "He's truly serious. That explains that loser photographer hanging around the house recently. I think loser photographer also doubles as Ezio's loser boyfriend. Oh my god, where's my phone? I need to tell Rosa. Oh my god." She set her teacup down on the doily and left the room, laughing raucously. Maria entered the room shortly thereafter, a smug expression on her face. She sat down in the chair Claudia departed from and sipped from Claudia's tea cup.

"How are you doing, honey?" She asked.

Federico smiled. It was good to be home. 


	4. Less Than Usual

**Will That Be All?**

_IV - Less Than Usual_

_

* * *

_

Ezio hates his classes; he hates being a pre-law major, but he couldn't tell padre he wanted to become an _actor_, or something. That wouldn't be befitting of the Auditore familigia, so he's reduced to fucking criminology classes (because, of course, no Auditore is a _tax lawman_).

Today, Ezio decides he is skipping, because he can really not _stand_ Doctor Vidic. The man is a sadist who eyes Ezio (and some punk that sulks in the back of the class) like they're candy and he wants to stap Ezio down and dissect him, or whatever it is that doctors do.

He's walking through the park where some frats are tossing a frisbee. Ezio watches them long enough to snort when one punk gets nailed in the eyes with the disc. He continues walking, smiling seductively at the ladies who pass, tossing a sultry look over his shoulder just in time for when one of the women takes a picture on her phone. He was so looking for that photo on Facebook later. The ladies tittered and walked away swiftly, whispering to eachother and giggling insanely while staring at the picture on the phone.

There was a man by the fountain, surrounded by a court of dogs with his arms spread as if he was their king- no, their _god_. And the dogs watched raptly, ears pricked in interest. Ezio stopped to watch, along with other interested students.

"Charlie, heel," The man said, lowering his arms, and a large mutt bolted forward to the man along with a Welsh Corgi. He knew what that dog was if only because Claudia found it imperative to forward him emails filled with them. "No, Bernardo, you stay," said the trainer, and the Corgi stared at the man with big eyes, lost. He spun in a circle in the crowd chuckled. "No, Bernardo- oh, fine. Bernardo, heel," And Bernardo ran over to the man, danced another, larger circle around him and parked himself next to Charlie on the trainer's left side. "Yes, excellent! Take it," he gave the dogs treats and the other five mutts present all wriggled, waiting for their turn.

The training continued until the dogs were sated and lay in a pile at the man's feet. The crowd dispersed and Ezio approached the man. "Are these all your dogs?" he asked, appraising the man. Blond hair curled from sweat, loose shirt and pants with pockets that were, he had learned, filled with dog treats. The man turned and beamed up at Ezio.

"Ah, yes. Some of them. No, Bernardo, please stay. _Stay_- good boy. No more treats." The Corgi spun in another pitiful circle and the trainer released a gusty sigh.

"I am Ezio, might I ask for your name?" He flashed a brilliant smile down at the man, taking in clear blue eyes and freckles on a tanned face. _I'd do him,_ Ezio thought blandly.

"_Alfonso, no_," He told a bloodhound mutt sternly before turning his face up at Ezio again. "I am Leonardo. It is a pleasure to meet you,"

Smiling wider, Ezio replied, "The pleasure is all mine, truly. You said these are only some of your dogs?"

Leonardo looked guilty. "Yes- I run an animal shelter not far from here. The dogs get adopted faster in the park, where others can see them and see how well trained they are. These are merely seven of, currently, twenty dogs. Except Bernardo," Leonardo admitted. "Bernardo is mine."

"It is very kind of you to run a dog shelter," Ezio said, following the man as they walked, he assumed, toward the shelter. The dogs followed obediently, their leads trailing the sidewalk. Bernardo held Alfonso's leash in his mouth.

Leonardo laughed and the sound made butterflies in Ezio's stomach- it was a light laugh, almost a bell of a laugh, and it vaguely reminded him of mamma's dainty chortle. "Oh, no, it is not just for dogs. It is an all-purpose animal shelter- fourteen cats, three snakes, one lizard, twenty dogs, sixteen birds, one chinchilla, two guinea pigs, and five rats, and two koi fish."

Ezio whistled, impressed and a bit awed. "I hope you are not running this shelter alone,"

Leonardo looked sheepish. "Well, there are volunteers, but," he sighed. "No long-term staff. It is hectic, yes, but they are all good animals. Except Bartolomeo- he is a cobalt budgie with the habit of cursing and crying for his deceased owner, Bianca. It is quite distressing. Do you go to school here, Ezio?" Leonardo asked, and Ezio felt a tingling at the use of his name. Nobody made his name sound like that. _I'd do him and stay the next morning._

"Yes," Ezio admitted. "I am a junior, majoring in pre-law," The words sounded bitter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alfonso snap at Bernardo, who pulled on the leash in retribution.

"That is impressive, but, as I can recall, pre-law majors have quite a few classes." He glanced side-long at Ezio, a shrewd expression on his face. "I suppose you have one now?"

Ezio grimaced, and Leonardo laughed again. He opened the door of the shelter and shot a look over his shoulder at his train of seven dogs. Six of them sat, waiting for admission, while Bernardo strutted forward like he owned the world. Ezio smiled. Leonardo ushered the dogs and Ezio in. When the dogs settled and after Leonardo greeted the various cats and mutts swarming him, he stood straight and turned around, beaming at Ezio and looking beautiful, even in this common setting, with his cheap clothing and tousled hair and generous heart.

"So, Ezio, are you looking to adopt?"

A slow smile crawled onto Ezio's face and he nodded just as slowly.

"You could say that," He said. _I'd **stay** with him._


	5. Two For the Price of One

**Will That Be All?**

_V - Two For the Price of One, also "Desmond Hates His Jackass Roommate"_

_

* * *

_

"You're renting out part of my rooms?" Desmond asked, and Owen shrugged, polishing a schooner.

"Well, yeah," He said, as if Desmond should've seen it coming. _Bastard_. "You're great and all, but I give the rooms to you for so fucking low I might as well be paying _you_ rent."

Desmond sniffed. "Whatever."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, sunshine, I won't let any cougars room with you." Owen leered, and Desmond made a disgusted face.

"Don't even joke about that, that was the most terrifying thing in my young existence." He tried not to think about it while grabbing some beer on tap in a tall mug for himself.

"You're not off the clock yet, don't you dare drink th- son of a bitch," Owen glowered at Desmond, who took long draws from the schooner. "And anyway, you're what, twenty-nine? You're not _young_."

"I'm twenty-five, asshole."

"Whatever. Pour me one. So I put the sign up in the door earlier today, we should be getting requests for tours by the end of the week. That means throw away your used tampons there, Cinderella."

Desmond laughed, flipping Owen the bird. "Whatever. God, you're such a bastard."

The door of the bar slammed open, and a few of the drunks spread intermittently through jumped at the noise of the door meeting wall. A man, carrying several large dufflebags and looks, for the world, worn out and pissed off. Desmond, sipping from his schooner, watched as the man, bogged down with bags upon bags, approached. He slammed down the advert for renting half of Desmond's room on the bar infront of Owen.

"It says you have a room for rent. I want it." He said, panting from the effort of carrying the bags. Desmond thought he saw something inside a bag move.

Owen, startled, put down his own mug of ale. "D-don't you want to, uh, maybe check out the rooms?" He was making subtle motions to Desmond, as if to say _go upstairs and clean up your fucking pigsty_.

The man, suddenly, snarled and looked quite forboding and vicious. Desmond took another long drink of his beer. "_Give me the bleedin' room_," He snarled, and Owen, the pussy, nodded meekly.

"Of-of coure, mister-?"

"Hastings." The man said shortly. "_Now_ please, I've been carrying this shit for nine blocks."

"Uh-uh, uhm, yes, of course. Miles! Show Mister Hastings his rooms." Owen said, trying to compose himself. Like this scrawny British asshole didn't terrify him. He flipped the rag he used to polish schooners over his shoulder and grabbed his mug half-filled with beer.

"Come on, your limey highness, I'll show you your room," He muttered, he cocked his head to the stairs in a corner behind the bar and began to climb, not offering to help. Hastings was cursing Desmond and his mother. Desmond kindly refrained from mentioning that he hadn't seen his mother since he was sixteen years old and high as a fucking kite.

He opens the door to the open living area/kitchen/dining. There are three doors in the room and a closet- two lead to bedrooms and one to a spacious bathroom which surprises Desmond every time he enters, because it's fucking _high quality_, and it's above a _pub_, for chrissake. _God works in mysterious ways_, his mother used to say, and his lips twist bitterly.

"My humble abode," He said dryly, gulping down the rest of his beer and putting the schooner next to three others on the table next to the door. Hastings dropped three of the bags, leaving the fourth and fifth on his shoulder. One of the bags _howled_, and the dick unzipped it and a fucking _cat_ popped out.

Desmond isn't sure if you can even call it a cat because it's _fucking huge_.

"The fuck is that!"

Hastings sniffs in the way only a pretentious British bastard can pull off. "It's a Maine Coon. A cat, if you will."

"That's not a cat- that's a fucking _panther_. OWEN! OWEN- oh thank Christ, Owen, he's brought a fucking wildcat into my apartment ("_My_ apartment, you cocksucker,") you're not letting it _stay_, right?" Owen, poking his head in the doorway, shifts his eyes almost imperceptibly to the new asshole on the block.

"Yeah, sure, I like cats." He said before slinking back down the stairs to avoid further arguments.

"Oh, _come on_!" Desmond groaned. The cat left the bag and he would _swear_ the damn thing had a two foot long body. It was a _dog_, for chrissake. The thing was prowling his apartment and now was getting _fur_ all over his gorgeous, expensive Italian leather sofa. "Hey, Gloves- Mittens, whatever, back away from the leath- _don't you dare put those claws on that_- fucking creature, get your dog off my sofa, Hastings."

"He's a _cat_, you Yankee idiot,"

Desmond turned to give Hastings a very bland stare, one that either called the recipient a fucking idiot or was so incredulous, you felt guilty. "Have you seen the size of that cat. That is _not normal_."

Hastings picked up the rest of his bags and the empty one and moved toward the door on the left side of the room, the empty one, thank Christ.

They exchanged names a week later. And, first impression, Desmond fucking _hates_ Shaun Hastings.

* * *

**Shaun's cat is a Maine Coon with some freakishmutant jumbo gene, making him positively _huge_.** I have read of such a gene in cats, but I fucked with it a bit to suit my needs. _It's my AU I'll do what I want_


	6. Too Much part i

**Will That Be All?**

_VI - Too Much part i, also "Malik"_

_Warnings for: ungraphic torture, unconsensual sex, mindfuckery_

_

* * *

_

"We need to stop meeting like this," Altair muttered as he examined the bullet wound in Malik's arm. Malik sat impatiently, sighed frequently and scowled appropriately. He didn't flinch.

"I'd perfer," he stated, "not to meet you at _all_."

"Yeah, yeah, but _you're_ the one who broke the rules. The Firm clearly states that agents may not leave the building with unauthorized Firm property," Malik didn't watch as Altair began bullet removal. "And, unfortunately for you, that includes this" careful extraction "little thing." He dropped the bullet on the metal tray beside the bed Malik occupied. He began to clean the arm, and Malik sighed expansively.

"Can you hurry it up? My brother is graduating today, and I'm going to be late."

"You're not going to be late, don't be stupid. Take the jet. Or the heli." He pressed a square of linen on the wound and taped a corner down before he took a long stretch of gauze and began to wrap the arm. "Weren't you just in a training exercise? Jesus."

"Fucking novices." Malik explained shortly. "And I'm _not_ bringing a helicopter to my brother's gradutation."

"Why the hell not? What's the point of all those fancy modes of transportation if you only use them on missions?" Altair asked, and Malik closed his eyes, begging whatever god was listening for patience. "Bring the heli, you'll get there fast."

"Where the hell would I even park it?" Malik asked, going a different route to deter Altair.

Altair shrugged and tightened the wrap before adding another band of gauze. "Fuck if I know, I'm not allowed to drive it. The roof? Oh, wait, is it one of those outdoor graduations? Do the parking lot, no fucker will dare park near a helicopter."

Malik felt the beginning of a headache and didn't speak until Altair finished.

"Thanks." He said, quietly. Altair flapped a hand in dismissal.

"Whatever, get the hell outta my office. Oh, wait, not yet." He pulled a box out from behind his desk and tossed it to Malik. It was small, square. "Graduation gift for Kadar. Tell him congratulations for me."

"Sure," Malik muttered as he pocketed the box. "Thanks again."

Altair flapped his hand in dismissal again. Malik took the helicopter to Kadar's graduation, and Robert laughed when Malik told him later, a wide smile stretched beautifully across his face as Malik describe how he parked next to a startled mother and her five children.

* * *

It was quiet when Malik entered the Firm- Robert wasn't there, and that worried him. The suits looked especially grim, and the interns didn't greet him with their usual charisma. _What's going on?_

"Malik," he heard, and for a second he could pretend that it was Robert who said his name, but he knew it wasn't, and turned to face Altair.

"Altair."

Altair looked down at the floor, and that's when Malik realized that nobody had ever seen Altair out of the clinic. He started, alarmed, but Altair placed a warm hand on his shoulder as Malik turned away.

"No- wait- Malik, I need you to come with me for a minute," He said, and he looked so pained that Malik obeyed, following him.

"What's going on, Altair?" He asked one the doctor managed to get him seated.

Altair turned and stared out the window in his office for a long time before he spoke. "It's- de Sablé." He said, pained.

Malik's heart dropped to the floor, and he shot out of his chair. "Robert? What happened? Is he okay? Where is he? He's not MIA, right? POW? D-dead?" He rattled off question after question before Altair finally turned and looked just as pained as Malik felt. Malik broke off his tangent abruptly. _Not over Robert?_

"We got a transmission from the site we sent de Sablé's team to a couple hours ago- he's- the entire crew is missing and the site they sent him to looks like a massacre went on. There's blood- fucking everywhere. I'm so sorry, Malik."

Malik nodded numbly and Altair squeezed his shoulder again before he left his office. Malik collapsed into the chair again and stared at the wall. His heart felt so tight every time it beat, and Malik couldn't find it in him to cry the way he wanted to.

* * *

"God you spend way too much time in here, what the fuck do the suits have you doing?" Altair demanded, sewing sutures into a long, deep cut up Malik's back. He had already extracted two bullets, and he bitched the entire time.

Malik can't shrug, so instead he just grunts. "You know. The usual. Espionage."

"_Espionage_- really? But you're meant for the stealthy assassin stuff. That's what you're fucking good at-that's what you have successfully done for the past five years and _never fucked up_-and they have you _undercover_?"

Malik hissed at the feeling of the needle in his skin. "Y-yeah, ever since Robert and his crew went MIA, suits are trying to make up for the lack of manpower."

Altair scowled at the mention of de Sablé, but Malik can't see it from the way he is positioned. "Am I seriously the only one who saw de Sablé as a bad egg? Really?"

"The Firm pays you to fix up agents, not give them advice on them." Malik said through clenched teeth. _Robert is a good, honorable man._

"Almost done," Altair said, then, "Maybe they should, because I know more about you guys than your files do. I have _amended medical files_, with every scar and wound you have ever gotten, how you got it, how long it took to heal, _everything_. De Sablé has never had one cut, fracture, bruise, or even a fucking hangnail." He covered the long line of stitching with linen and taped it to hold it still. "Arm," He demanded, holding out his hand. Malik placed it in gingerly, and Altair began stitching there. "Doesn't that seem a little peculiar?"

Malik had to admit it _did_, and he said as much. "But maybe he's just good at his job. He leads a team," _As if that explains everything. Robert did-does a lot of things._

"Leading a team is not synonymous with coming out with no scrapes. His team has the highest success rate? The only time someone from de Sablé's crew has come in here is from a broken bone from falling. _Falling_. I say he's double crossed."

Malik barely resisted jerking his arm back. He _knew_ that was what they were discussing, but _hearing_ it gave it a whole different spin. "_That's insane_," He hissed. "Robert is-was-_is_ an upstanding agent and the Firm wouldn't- the suits would know." _**I** would know._

Altair said nothing more as he finished sewing together Malik's arm and placed another line of linen on, taped in place. When Malik left, he still thought about what Altair said.

* * *

"What are you thinking of majoring in, Kadar? Criminal justice?" Malik asked, giving Kadar the Chinese food he ordered. Kadar shrugged.

"I don't know," He admitted. Malik patted his shoulder.

"I'll support you in whatever you choose," Malik said seriously, and Kadar met his eyes and offered a small smile. "Except Theater. You'll have to front that on your own,"

Kadar laughed and beamed. They sat and ate in silence, enjoying an easy, familiar camaraderie. Malik spotted the picture of Robert out of the corner of his eye and his heart clenches with worry, fear, love. He plastered on a fake smile for Kadar and much later, close to dawn, Malik is already awake, and he absently traced Robert's face in the frame.

* * *

De Sablé wore a more expensive suit than the ones the Firm provides. High-quality, high-end, high-tread-count, and it is speckled with blood from the agents that Malik arrived with.

"A-Sayf, it is excellent to see you again," He said in a friendly tone, cocking his arm so the gun is no longer aimed between Malik's eyes. "How has the Firm been?"

Malik spat blood on the floor next to de Sablé's feet. "Searching for their _best squadron and agent_, you fucking traitor. You're selling our government secrets for what, original Armani suits?"

He laughed and, still laughing, shot Malik in the arm. He hissed and backed against the wall of the room to brace himself. It was a fucking disgusting room- it was almost dungeon-esque with stone walls and uneven stone floors. There was water dripping from somewhere- probably from the soil above them. He recalled, vaguely, that it had rained for several weeks on and off before that. The room probably has algae growing in it, because it certainly has that musky smell of greenery (and blood and death and guns).

"I would watch your mouth, Malik," He said, smiling and friendly. He was charismatic, Malik thought, wiping his face with the hand that wasn't attached to an injured arm. His sleeve and gloves were covered in blood. "You sound so surprised, A-Sayf. I have been selling trade secrets on and off for about three years now, I have quite a lot of money saved up. I almost have enough to buy out a country. Or sell out."

Malik flinched as de Sablé takes his time examining his gun. Malik _knew_ he was going to be executed or tortured. He tried to draw up his mental walls, as Altair trained all the recruits to do, but de Sablé had been at those briefings, too. He knows how to tear them down. Especially the walls of someone he knew so fucking intimately.

"You know how much fun I've had, Malik, being missing-in-action these weeks?" De Sablé asked casually, moving over to kick Malik in the ribs. It was a weak shot, and de Sablé knew it, but he was just warming up. "The Firm has been sending agent after agent to our last known location- well, _my_ last known location. I executed my squad shortly after I fled," Robert admitted as if it was as common as picking up your little sister at the bus stop every day. He leaned close to Malik, and said conspiratorially, "There was a lot of blood, you know. But it was so... boring. I have been practicing." And he hit Malik with the butt of the gun and knocked him out for at least several hours.

De Sablé wouldn't kill Malik without him being awake.

* * *

Malik woke up in the same room, but it was dark except for an archaic torch on the wall. Malik didn't move his eyes from the floor. He was supposed to kill the crimelord behind Templar- the Firm had gotten so many leads in the past several months, Malik was almost inclined to admit that maybe Altair _was_ correct- maybe Robert _was_ crooked. So he took his team, just as the Firm ordered, and they appeared in England, just as the Firm told them, where their informant had told them Templar had moved to.

Four months in the mission and he was going to meet the mastermind behind Templar- six months of planning, four months of action, and he froze up at the sight of Robert de fucking Sablé behind the fucking desk.

_I should have shot him when I had the chance,_ Malik thought, pained, humilated. _But it was **Robert**-_

His arms were tied behind a very sturdy chair and his bullet wound was fucking _painful_ and he could barely feel his arm sans for a throbbing pain in tune with the beat of his heart. His legs were tied to the chair legs. Torchlight cast an ancient glow on the surroundings and Malik felt hysterical laughter bubble up in his throat. _He fucking played me. He knew exactly what he was doing to me all those months and he fucking duped me._ He noticed then that he was still wearing his clothing, except for his jacket and regulation weapons. God, he did it so he can watch me panic when he starts to take it off. _Fuck._

_He's probably fucking watching me, waiting for me to build up my walls, become stoic to the pain. Fucking Robert, the fucking- Altair never trusted- he always hates it when I mention Robert. God, why? Is-was it because he was suspicious? Or what? He was checking out my ass the other day_ God, yes, Malik, focus on something, _anything_, just not what de Sablé wanted from you- be it death or information. Christ, he probably knows more than you know anyways. Malik tried to focus on thoughts of Altair, but his heart clenched every time, because he felt as if he was cheating on Robert de _fucking Sablé_.

"Happy thoughts, A-Sayf?" de Sablé asked casually from the dungeon door. Malik raised his head heavily and knew he would regret it later. Robert was in the doorway, and he stood strong and handsome as always, sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, thin black gloves on his hands (one carried a cigarette). His white shirt was spattered with blood, and Malik wondered who he tortured earlier. A diamond stud glinted in his ear, and last year Malik would have assumed it was fake. Now he knew, for a fact, that it was real. "Oh, Malik, I _missed_ you these past couple months, did you know? God, you were always so adoring and so tight, I almost regretted leaving you behind. You helped me _so much_, did you know that?" His hand trailed down Malik's face and he closed his eyes and pretended they were infront of his apartment and Robert was saying goodbye like he had that first night-

A backhand to the face. Malik fought off a cry of dismay. Robert kicked him in the gut and the chair rocked dangerously.

"_Look at me_," de Sablé demanded, and Malik stared off to the side, unmoved. He left the room, and the door slammed ominously. Malik released a dry sob before he fell into a horrible sleep.

* * *

_"Why are you doing this, Robert?" Malik breathed, and one of Robert's strong arms came around his waist for support. "Why are you so kind to me?"_

__

De Sablé thought for a long moment before his free hand traced down Malik's face, and he held the strong jaw gently. "Because you're so strong, Malik. And I think..." He leaned closer, and Malik pressed up to get closer to the taller man. "I think I may be falling in love with you," he breathed and Malik uttered a quiet, happy laugh before Robert's lips sealed over his own.

_"God, Robert, I'm- I love you," He brought up his own hands to cradle Robert's strong, sharp jaw. "I love you too," He said, and they shared wide smiled, pressing their foreheads together and shared another passionate kiss._

* * *

He began with cutting. And Malik watched every cut that Robert made, feeling more and more distraught with each cut.

"Please- Robert, please-" He wailed after Robert began a gentle sawing motion on his finger. "Oh god, please don't-"

"Shut up, Malik."

Malik was reduced to dry sobs and empty wails of pain.

* * *

Robert worked slowly- he took his time cutting off Malik's fingers and he cauterized each one soon after.

"I don't want you to die, Malik." he said, and he pressed a delicate kiss to Malik's temple. "Do you remember when we met, Malik?" He asked, cutting Malik's wrist with soft, painful slits. Yes, in extreme detail, Malik wanted to say, but all he said was _why, why, why_.

* * *

Malik was nearly numb to the pain by the time de Sablé cut off his arm above his elbow. He couldn't feel it when Robert cauterized the wound, but he registered _pain pain pain_. Most of his arm was strewn about the room, and de Sablé's surgical precision didn't make that knowledge any easier. The sane part of Malik's mind thought, idly, that he should be passed out from blood loss by now. Or shock, at least. How is the bone cutter even working? Malik mused from the white safe-room of his mind, the small sliver that hadn't been broken down yet.

"Why aren't you begging me, Malik? Beg me, you always did so prettily. Tell me to stop." De Sablé demanded, pulling his had back by his hair.

Malik said nothing, but _why_ played like a broken record in his mind.

"Tell me to stop, baby," Robert said breathily into Malik's ear, and he bit the shell. "God, beg me to do anything." After a few moments ravishing Malik's neck, he panted into Malik's ear again. "You've gotten me so hot, Malik, like you always have. I was rock hard as soon as I got rid of this," He held up a pinky in Malik's vision and, detached, Malik said, _that's mine_. Robert made the pinky wave to Malik before he tossed it back to the floor. He grabbed Malik by the scruff of his neck- the collar of his shirt- and tossed him to the floor. He registered more _pain pain pain why why why_ but did not otherwise move.

De Sablé sighed, irritated, and kicked Malik in the ribs, forcing him on his back. _Why why why_

Blood covered Malik's chest from what he could see and he knew his back was slick with the blood and mildew on the floor. He stared at de Sablé, but it wasn't _Robert_- god, it _couldn't_ be. De Sablé opened his belt and unzipped his trousers, he kneeled on the floor and pulled Malik close, pressing himself tightly against Malik's battered body.

"God, are you going to be as tight as I remember? You always try to please me in bed, baby, are you going to please me now?" _Robert_ smiled this time and Malik felt tears roll down his cheeks, fat and pleading, and de Sablé lapped them up. He wasted no time when he tore down Malik's own pants, already ruined by blood and probably piss and sweat, he didn't even know anymore. Robert-fuck, _de Sablé_ rammed himself home and Malik didn't cry out even though he only registered everything as _pain why pain pain pain why robert_. He lifted Malik's leg as he drove himself closer, and that's when Malik saw it, from his tiny piece of consciousness that was registering every horrifying hour in his lover's presence. Time passed so slow as it happened, and he closed his eyes.

_**Bang**_

Robert's brains were all over the fucking wall, Malik, and he was still inside Malik, and his holster was empty, dangling from Robert's shoulder harness.

Malik was sobbing, and he tried to use his hands to brace himself and he just cried fucking harder. _Hand._ He pushed Robert's dead weight off him, gingerly, and barely pulled up his pants before he pulled Robert closer, resting the man's head in his lap. Malik's tears fell onto his face, into open, unseeing, dead eyes, the hole in Robert's head fucking _leaking_-

"I'm sorry," Malik sobbed, tracing Robert's face with his hand, every contour he knew so intimately. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Robert, I'm sorry." He repeated over and over, his own mantra. "I love you, Robert, I'm so fucking sorry."

When the Firm- lead by a worried and angry and pissed off Doctor Ibn-La'Ahad- arrived to collect Malik, the rescue squad froze. Malik's arm was strewn across the room. De Sablé's brain against the wall. Altair rushed forward to Malik and he collapsed next to Malik at the sight. He was still rocking back and forth with Robert's head in his lap, one man dead, the other dead to the world.

"I love you. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."

**

* * *

Minor edits.** If you see anything wrong or incorrect, feel free to tell me.


	7. More or Less

**Will That Be All?**

_VII - More or Less_

_

* * *

_

Desmond did not like that shitty cat that Shaun owned. At all.

"Owen, cats hate dogs, right?" He asked, scrubbing down the bar late that evening. Owen looked up from his shitty novel, then went back to reading.

"Yeah. I mean, that's what Looney Toons taught me." Desmond snorted. "Why you ask?"

"I want to adopt a dog that will eat Hastings' douchebag cat. That thing was sleeping in my sink. The _kitchen_ sink, since it's too freakishly big to fit in a normal bathroom sink. He thinks its _cute_," Desmond sneered, flipping the towel over his shoulder.

"It _is_ cute," Owen insisted.

"I looked up that hellcat on the internet. Maine Coon, he called it. They're supposed to be, like, fifteen inches tall and really goddamn long. This cat is the size of a golden retriever." Desmond explained emphatically. Owen shrugged again and didn't deign to look up.

"My mother had a Maine Coon she loved more than me. It had to have been two feet long. They're big cats," He said. He flipped a page.

"Bossman, it's not that hard to love a hellbeast over you. Least the shit a cat spews can be cleaned up." Owen snickered at that and flipped Desmond the bird. Desmond returned it.

* * *

"Ah, a customer!" Said an eccentric blond from behind a pile of creatures at the shelter. He stood and tried to run a hand through his hair to straighten it; it didn't work. "Are you here to adopt, or are you just looking?"

"Buy or get the fuck out!" A bird squawked from its perch behind the counter. It puffed itself out like a fucking cotton ball and Desmond thought it was the weirdest fucking thing he had seen since Owen tried a kegstand on the wine barrel behind the bar in storage.

"Bartolomeo, hush," the owner chastised. "I am sorry about him, I cannot seem to break his habits. I am Leonardo, by the way,"

Desmond shook the proffered hand and said, slowly, "It's... alright. I guess. Desmond. Uhm, yeah, I want to look at dogs." He tried not to stare at the bird puffing its chest out at Desmond. It began to strut back and forth on its stand.

"Oh, wonderful! Sit," He told the dogs trying to trail after him. All of them sat except for a tiny fat sausage of a weiner dog. "These are part of the current selection. Except Bernardo. Bernardo, heel," The sausage teetered over to Leonardo and sat happily at his feet. "That's Nyle, Cross, Weaver, Harper, and Bradley," He said, pointing them out. Desmond processed the dogs, by expression, as _Dopey, Crazy, Floppy, Stupid,_ and _No Comment_. "We have more dogs in the back. Come!" The dogs and Desmond trailed obediently behind Leonardo. Stupid kept trying to nose into Desmond's pockets.

"Most of these dogs are older, but they are relatively well-trained." Leonardo explained as the dogs behind him rushed off to play with one another across the expansive backyard. Desmond didn't know that the city off campus had this much _grass_. "Feel free to walk around and play with them," Leonardo encouraged as a tabby cat twined around his ankles. Desmond barely managed to withold a shudder.

Desmond walked. Dogs ran into his legs and one small, ragged looking dog followed him around like a duckling. Or like a dog.

"That one, the dog following you- that is Graham," said a voice from behind Desmond. It wasn't Leonardo. "I am Ezio, I help Leonardo here," He flashed a charming smile. His hair was longer than his associate's and tied back. He wore clothes that were, quite obviously, expensive.

Desmond squinted at Ezio who flashed another smile. "Aren't you an Auditore? From the law firm- what's it called?"

Ezio grimaced. "Auditore & Associates. You recognized me?"

"Your family is on the news all the time," Desmond pointed out. Ezio laughed. Graham twined herself around Desmond as he walked around the park with Ezio.

"I suppose they are. Are you adopting?"

Desmond grimaced that time. "I'm getting a dog to hopefully eat my roommate's demon cat." Graham put her paws on Desmond's thigh, tail wagging. "Not you. You're not scary." Graham whined. Ezio laughed. Desmond pet the dog's tattered ears. "What happened to him?"

"Her. She was a stray and was pregnant, but something happened to the poor girl. She lost all but one of her pups, which Leonardo and I are watching very closely. He is doing healthy, but Graham is effectively fixed now. She is a good girl," Ezio flashed another charming smile. _Trying to get me to buy the damn thing._

"What kind of dog is she?"

"Sheltie, we think. She certainly has the looks of one." Ezio backed away as a large, slightly ugly bloodhound came loping over to sniff Desmond. "Alfonso," Ezio warned, clucking his tongue. Alfonso growled and sat.

"He's a big dog," Desmond said, patting the dog on the head. Graham wiggled in jealousy, trying to jump under his other hand.

"He is a stupid one," Ezio said. "Utterly useless. Bernardo hates him, too," Ezio confided. "Don't tell Leonardo," He winked, and walked away. Alfonso followed him as if he knew the man was bad mouthing him. Graham put her paws on Desmond's thigh again and whined.

"What." He said at her. She tilted her head and panted.

"No, you're not fierce. You're what, a foot or so tall. This cat is the size of..." He looked around and Graham looked with him. "That dog," He prodded a finger in the direction of a labrador mutt. "Can you _handle_ a cat like that? You can't," He insisted. "So no."

Later, Desmond found himself signing papers to adopt one _Graham Cracker_ from Leonardo's shelter.

* * *

Desmond closed the door to his apartment, comfortable that Graham was potty trained. Shaun looked up from the couch at the scramble of nails on the floor.

"The bloody fuck is that?" He asked as he stared derisively at the new dog, who shrank back behind Desmond.

"It's a dog. A sheltie, if you will," Desmond mocked, and Shaun offered a silent snarl. "Her name is Graham."

"As in, cracker?" Shaun asked dubiously. Graham wagged her tail at the mention of her name.

"Yeah, Graham Cracker."

Shaun and Desmond stared at each other. Graham wandered off.

"That is the _stupidest_ name I have ever heard." Shaun said sincerely.

"Trust me when I say it is better than Louis." Desmond told him solemnly. Shaun sneered.

"It's Lou_is_," He emphasized. Desmond snorted and tossed his keys in the bowl. "And he is larger than that _mutt_."

"Yeah, because you bought a _tiny puma_, you cocksucker." Desmond said, moving toward the designated kitchen area. He _wished_ this apartment wasn't open space because he didn't _want_ to continue talking to Shaun.

"Louis is a _Maine Coon_," Shaun said loudly. "And if I am lucky he will beat your dog to a pulp."

Desmond grabbed a yogurt and muttered, "If I'm lucky she'll take your dog with her. Asswipe." He watched as Graham came galloping over to Desmond, jumping more and spinning in a circle. She dropped a small bag at his feet and sat, tail wagging furiously. Desmond picked it up and Graham ran away again. "The hell? Is this _weed_?" He asked incredulously and Shaun's head shot up.

"How the hell did she get into my stash?" Shaun demanded, moving his laptop to retrieve the slimy bag.

"You have _weed_?" Desmond demanded right back at Shaun. Shaun snatched the bag from him.

"I'm working on a bloody PhD, I need all the help I can get," He sniffed derisively.

Desmond smirked. "You don't need _help_, you just need to get _laid_." Shaun stiffened, the bag safe in an appropriate hiding place in the kitchen.

"You offering?" He sneered, and Desmond's breath caught. Shaun's face was flushed lightly, implying either he was hot for the idea of he was embarassed.

"I-" He heard a meow and another scramble of nails on the hardwood. Both men watched as Graham and Louis scrutinized each other, sniffing and drawing back appropriately.

"Did you even _ask_ if Crackers there was _cat friendly_?" Shaun asked, back to his usual, snarky self. _Fuck, so close._

"No." He replied simply. Shaun rolled his eyes. They leaned against the counter. Graham's tail was _still_ wagging furiously, but Desmond was beginning to think that it didn't turn off at all. Louis twined himself around Graham and meowed as if _that was that_ and trotted away with Graham following him.

"_**What**_," said both Shaun and Desmond flatly as the dogs crawled onto the sofa and began to nap. _Spooning_. Louis began to clean Graham's tattered ears. Desmond tried not to smile at the sight. He caught Shaun covering his own grin.

"Yeah." He told Shaun as Shaun went to retrieve his laptop from the nice coffee table he bought after Shaun's complaining that he _didn't_ have one.

"_Yeah_ what?" Shaun said confused, and Desmond made a slow appraisal of Shaun's form, pausing on his ass then his face. Shaun flushed again.

"I am offering."

Shaun went to his room and locked the door. Desmond smirked. Graham's tail wagged as she wiggled against Louis and the demon groomed her. All in all, Desmond supposed it was a successful day.

* * *

**Desmond purchased a sable Sheltie, who is positively _adoring_ to Desmond and Louis, if not a bit shallow in the long run.** Much later, Owen, absolutely amused by it, purchases a cursing Budgie from Leonardo.


	8. Too Much part ii

**Will That Be All?**

_VI - Too Much part ii, also "Malik"_

* * *

Malik was passed out on the roof with a pile of sick and broken glass next to him, and that was where Altair found him.

"I'm away from you for seven hours and you just fall apart again." Altair said, cradling the cheek that Malik didn't have pillowed on cement. Carefully sweeping the larger glass fragments away from Malik's hollow, dead-to-the-world face, Altair carefully (and easily) lifted Malik's form. God. He was still so fucking _thin_.

He took the stairwell down to the fifteenth, his daily exercise, and managed to maneuver the door open. Kadar looked up from the sofa and then sighed.

"Where is the rest of his bottle?" He asked, moving to open Malik's bedroom door for Altair. Altair entered behind Kadar and set the prone form of Malik on the bed. He ran a gentle hand across his jaw.

"Smashed on the roof." He replied. Kadar sighed again, and stared at Malik sadly.

"This isn't Malik." He said, the same tone as his expression. Altair glanced up at Kadar briefly before returning his gaze to Malik.

Altair sighed before putting an arm around Kadar and leading him from the room. _I know_, Altair thought bitterly, and he cast a last glance at Malik before closing the door. "It's who he is now."

"I hate him like this." Kadar said, falling across the couch heavily. HBO hummed quietly in the background and Kadar watched as Sookie Stackhouse stared at Vampire Bill with affection and anger and everything in between, and Altair felt _resigned_, which was _stupid_, but damn it all.

"I know." He said, and grabbing his keys, Altair left.

* * *

_December 28 2006_

_Templar contacted me yet again, though I have not yet caved to their desires, though I feel I will soon enough, for their lure is material and desirable. I am unsure if my affections for Malik are strong enough to withstand the tempting gifts Templar offers..._

* * *

Altair returned at seven the next morning to find the apartment turned upside down, with Malik (distraught and drunk) searching for _something_. Malik snarled when he caught sight of Altair.

"Where is he?" And Altair paused, blinking.

"Kadar is at class, what-"

"_Not Kadar_," Malik hissed, struggling to his feet, obviously very drunk again. Or perhaps still unrecovered from his last blackout. "Robert! Where is he?"

Altair felt his heart clench painfully and he grimaced. _The fucking photograph._ He turned to face anywhere but Malik, pitiful on the floor, surrounded by books tossed from shelves and decorative dishes and fucking everything. Still, even two years later, Malik confided only in a picture of de Sablé.

"I don't know," Altair muttered, moving to the kitchen to check the cabinets. Whiskey missing. Excellent.

"You-you liar, you know where he is!" Malik said, fumbling in his attempt to stand. He only managed to stumble and fall again. Altair tried not to look at him as he struggled in his next attempt to stand. Malik's drunken grip on Altair's shoulder revealed this time he was successful.

"I don't _know_, Malik," Altair said tersely, and Malik hit him weakly and sloppily and Altair missed back when Malik put effort in harming Altair, back when he would have a bruise or black eye for a week.

"You _do_! You _do_ know, damn you!" Malik said brokenly, leaning heavily against Altair, hand stopping only to clutch helplessly at Altair's white jacket. "Where is Robert! I n-eed him, Altair!"

Altair closed his eyes and put his hand over the one Malik had knotted thoroughly around his jacket. "Malik, Robert is-"

"_Don't say it!_" Malik shrieked, and Altair sighed, but Malik kept babbling, _Robert, Robert, Robert_.

"Here, Malik-" Altair guided Malik to the sofa, where he sat unprotesting, yet still demanded de Sablé. "I'll go look for your ph-_Robert_. Just-stay here." Somehow, Altair escaped the apartment.

He found a broken, empty frame on the roof of the complex and Altair fingered the tiny sliver of photo stuck behind glass in the corner of the frame. He looked over the city beneath him and wondered (stupidly) if de Sablé was happier where he was.

* * *

It was close to four in the morning and Altair sat on the couch in the newly-cleaned room, turning over the slim leather book in his hands, watching as _de Sablé _disappeared and became clean black moleskine, and then flipped it back revealing _de Sablé_ once more. Feeling very old, Altair opened the book and leaned back in his seat, thumbing _November 16_ before diving into the next entry.

_November 17 2007_

_Malik has expressed a desire to come home with me, and I can only hope he does not doubt my faith in him and will not explore my possessions. I do not wish for him to find Templar's propositions, and he is a good agent, and I fear that he will find my slicks as much as I fear his discovery of my fall from grace..._

_

* * *

_

"I-I, fuck, I remember what happened to Robert," Malik confessed to Altair from the roof of the complex. He was probably shitfaced, and Altair tried not to look at him or stand too close, but he stood near enough to reach out and touch if he so desired. "I fu-fucking remember, Altair." His voice cracked and Altair remained stoic as he could.

"I threw him off the fucking building-why would I fucking do that, Altair? I f-fucking n-eed him," Malik sobbed, and his knuckles turned white against the cement. His head hung heavily from a neck that just couldn't bear its weight and Altair had to resist reaching out and touching, comforting.

"I told him I didn't need him anymore," Malik said quietly, brokenly. "I do, though, I-I...fuck, Robert, what did I do wrong?" Altair watched as fat tears rolled down Malik's cheeks and pattered on the ledge. Malik turned quicker than Altair thought he could and clenched his fist again in Altair's jacket, leaning heavily against him for support. "I _love_ him, Altair, how c-could I not need him," He sobbed into Altair's chest and Altair felt at a loss, wanting to wrap his arms around Malik and comfort him, but he couldn't do it, not while it was over _Robert_. Not while all Malik wanted was _de Sablé_.

He didn't say anything else for the rest of the evening, simply stumbled down the stairwell to his floor and locked himself in his room.

It was obvious whatever relevation that Malik had on the roof some nights ago was false.

* * *

_August 20 2008_

_Sometimes I wonder if I should regret my decision to leave Malik, to leave the Firm, but I am unsure if it would be wise to back out of Templar's arrangement now, not when we are so close to success. But there are times when I find myself turning over in my new room that Lion has assigned given to me and reaching out unconsciously to touch his Malik's arm or waist, to pull him closer to me. I wonder if I should regret my lack of remorse, becoming traitor without Malik by my side..._

_

* * *

_

Malik was in mourning for Robert, though it seemed for Altair like it was too late. _He's been mourning this entire time_, he reminded himself. Altair gripped the plain mug in his hand tightly. He remembered quite vividly how Malik was after Altair informed him of de Sablé's disappearance. He was the only one who believed that, if _Robert_ was alive, he wasn't traitor, that he was hanging on to his allegiances.

Altair sneered and took deep gulp of coffee.  
He thought of Malik, how fucking happy he was at the Firm with his _covert_ relationship with Robert. Altair could pinpoint the exact day Malik fell for the espionage agent, and he also knew the exact day that they exchanged intimacies. Another image of how gleeful and gorgeous and peaceful Malik was after that day.

His sneer fell off his face rather abruptly after that, and he simply stared into his mug as if it held all the answers Altair sought for in its depths.

* * *

_September 1 2008_

_I was informed by the Grandfather that the Firm has been getting information faster and quicker now that I am not a buffer between the Firm and Templar. Lion is both displeased and pleased by this information, and since my old team was disposed of, Lion has been informed that the Firm is preparing an infiltration squad for espionage. My heart clenched at the thought of Malik being involved in this; he is too perfectgood for such petty wars between factions, but he would look so gorgeous draped in the blood of my enemies, hungry for more..._

_

* * *

_

"Altair, can I talk with you?" Kadar said quietly- nervously- through Altair's door, where he lay on his back with Robert's journal open on his chest. Closing it and slipping it under the pillow, Altair stood and opened the door, cocking his head for Kadar to enter.

"What do you need?" Altair asked, rubbing his face and leaning against a wall parallel to where Kadar now sat.

Kadar let loose a deep sigh. "I want to change my major from Criminology to English." He said bluntly. Altair blinked in surprise, and opened his mouth to tell Kadar that he should tell Malik instead. He closed his mouth immediately after that thought passed.

"Good on you. Why the sudden change?" He said instead. Kadar looked away, guilty and embarassed.

It took a bit longer for Kadar to speak that time. "I... I wanted to go into criminology because that's what Malik does-_did_. And he was brilliant at it, and he's my hero and has been for the longest time. We're _family_, he was all I had, Altair," Altair crossed his arms uncomfortably at Kadar's pleading expression, one that begged _just understand_. "I wanted to be like Malik, and Malik loved criminology and all of that. When I went into it, I thought maybe we would grow closer, because he was distant ever since Robert disappeared, but then it was just my... desperation to bring him back. I thought that maybe if I did something Malik loved he would fu-fucking wake up," His words were becoming more rapid and he was stumbling over words and phrases now. "But it's done nothing but remind me _I can't fucking help my brother_." His eyes burned now and he was almost yelling. "I can't do anything! He doesn't leave the apartment, he barely eats, he just fucking sits and commiserates with a photograph of his _dead lover_! Do you know how much that hurts, Altair? My brother, who practically raised me, doesn't give a fucking damn about me!"

The words Altair said next were automatic- "You know that's not true, Kadar,"

"It fucking _is_! You know how many times I've tried to go out with him like we used to, or get him to sit on the fucking sofa again, and eat Chinese food watching Bridezillas? He isn't _Malik_ anymore. He used to be fucking strong, Altair, I remember when he would come home complaining about you, or walking on sunshine talking about how fucking great his boyfriend was. He hasn't been my brother since Robert joined the picture, but damn it, Altair, at least he was there. Now he isn't my brother." He looked miserable, and Kadar's eyes were becoming shiny with tears, and Altair felt his heart clench again, painfully tight. He walked across the room and wrapped Kadar in a hug while he sobbed into Altair's sweater, something he was growing more and more familiar with.

_I do understand_, He thought as Kadar just _broke down_. _I know what you fucking mean, exactly._ "I'm sorry," He whispered, rubbing soothing circles on Kadar's back.

* * *

Robert's journal ended rather abruptly on June 17 2009, and Altair felt his stomach roll at the memory of how he found Malik. He turned the journal over in his hand in the old _moleskine, de Sablé, moleskine, de Sablé_ routine. He flipped the journal over a final time (de Sablé) and stared at it.

He placed the journal in its home under his pillow.

* * *

Kadar arrived home around three, and Altair looked over at them before he turned his vision back to the television.

"Hey squirt," He said, and he could imagine the face Kadar made at that. "Your brother has been _pissed_."

"Literally or figuratively?" Kadar asked, and Altair felt his heart squeeze at the insinuation, even though it was fucking true. Altair muted My Fair Wedding and watched Kadar putter around the kitchen, tilting his head back on the couch.

"Maybe a bit of both." He admitted. "Ever since this morning he has been in his room. At least he's actually talking, even if he is just cursing up a storm that would make my mother blush."

Kadar shot him _a look_, so similar to the ones that Malik would give him at the Firm. "Your mother is dead."

"I never had a mother," Altair corrected. His eyes moved to the man accompanying Kadar. "Your Italian stallion, I presume?" He caught Kadar picking up Malik's medication and placing it in its proper cabinet. He also caught Kadar giving the stallion an adoring look, and Altair felt intensely jealous, but Kadar _deserved_ this.

"Yes, this is my lover, Federico Auditore," Kadar said, smiling widely and affectionately. Federico returned the look. Altair watched them long and hard, and saw so much of Malik inside of Kadar, how he loved so utterly and completely.

Continuing his scrutiny, Altair asked, "From Auditore & Associates?" Federico's expression didn't flicker and Altair returned his vision to David Tutera. "He's okay I guess. Good for you, Kadar."

Malik appeared in the doorway of his room, leaning heavily against the frame. Altair turned off the televison. "_Where the hell were you_?" He snarled, heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. "I fucking expected you home hours ago, Kadar!" Altair wanted to jump up to Kadar's defense, but fuck, it wasn't his place, this was Kadar's battle. Kadar stood proudly and tall, one of Federico's arms around his waist.

"I said we would come _later_, _brother_," He spat it like an insult, but it didn't hurt Malik. Altair felt the sting though, recalling how Robert described the relationship between the brothers in his journal around February and March 2007. "It isn't your concern how long I was gone." Malik snarled again, a soundless and ugly expression upon his face. His gaze swung to Federico, who still remained unflinching.

"Who is _this_?" Malik asked, a drunken glare his only welcome to Federico.

Kadar was getting more and more impatient. "I already _said_ this morning, he's my lover, Federico Auditore."

"From Auditore & Associates," Altair said quietly, hoping that Malik would _possibly_remember the lawmen that worked for the Firm.

"How many times do I have to tell you to get out before you will actually leave, Altair?" Malik asked in a slur, stumbling closer to the commotion, leaning heavily against the couch. Altair flinched and looked away from Malik.

"You know I can't do that, Malik, and I can't say why in front of _nice company_." He murmured, and Malik's laugh sounded jagged and raw and completely forced and perhaps a bit drunk.

"Nice company?" He coughed after his fit of laughter. "It is Kadar's _boyfriend_, not anybody important." He could feel the sting that gave Kadar and stood, face to face with Malik, and fucking glared.

"For _god's sake_, Malik!" He snarled angrily, sending Malik recoiling briefly from the heat of the words. "Quit punishing Kadar for your relationship problems! He came home, for the first time in ages, with a lover or boyfriend or even a goddamn _fling_ and you can't even give him that, can you?" Malik flattened against the wall, taken aback. "You've had fucking intimacy issues since de Sablé, and you've been pursuing a relationship with a goddamned photo, pushing away the only two people in the world who can fucking stand you all for the sake of a traitor? Why? Because you don't want Kadar to get _hurt_? Is that it?" He laughed, a high-pitched insane laugh of incredulity. "That's not even it. You hate the fact that you were hurt.

"Fuck, Malik, do you know how many times we've stayed up with you at night while you were drunk? That wasn't de Sablé's picture helping you, that was _your family_.

"De Sablé is _dead_, Malik. He's dead and you don't even give a damn that we've done everything for you. _Everything_. And you won't even let Kadar have this one bit of happiness in his life since you've effectively abandoned him. Just fucking let him have this, Malik."

Malik's eyes were as wide as saucers, and he stared at the floor, guilty. Malik looked up at Kadar briefly, then Federico before flinching again. "I- I am sorry," He said quietly, turning to his room and shutting the door behind him.

Silence reigned in the room and Altair sighed heavily. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Federico. Kadar- just go out for the rest of the day, anywhere but here." Altair rubbed his face. He watched as Federico and Kadar left before entering Malik's room.

It smelled strongly of booze and a bit like misery and brokeness. Malik sat on the edge of his bed, a picture frame on his lap. A picture of Kadar and Malik at Kadar's graduation, Malik wearing a proud grin and Kadar donning a similar expression. Altair didn't speak. It was a few minutes before Malik did.

"I don't know what's wrong with me anymore." He said quietly. "I... god, what have I even become, Altair?"

"A drunken ex-spy who has problems with intimacy and alcohol." Altair answered promptly. "And there is nothing I can do to help you, because you don't think there's a problem, Malik, because you won't do a goddamned thing."

Malik was quiet again, and he traced Kadar's face with a shaking hand. "I don't know how to do anything anymore."

Altair moved around the bed and removed the photo from Malik's lap, and he stood it up on the nightstand where he knew de Sablé's picture used to rest each night when Malik would actually sleep. Altair let his fingertips brush lightly over Malik's smiling visage in the picture before staring at a silently crying Malik. Malik looked gaunt, just a shadow of what he was two years ago, eyes wide and bloodshot and dark, he looked nearly emaciated.

Altair traced a hand down Malik's face before he knew what he was doing. Malik's eyes closed and he shook with quiet tears for several more minutes. Altair watched him, not sure if Malik would allow contact while he was '_weak_.'

When his sniffles quieted, Malik reached up and wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Okay," he said in a shaky voice, and Altair felt _hope_ swell inside him for the first time in seven goddamn years. Malik took a deep breath and looked up into Altair's eyes, and said for a second time, stronger, "Okay."

* * *

**Timeline.** Basically, part 1 begins around June 2008 at Kadar's graduation from high school. Robert and Malik had been in an intimate relationship since January 2007. Robert goes MIA in August 2008, and Malik sees him again for the first time, ten months later, in June 2009, which is when Malik Gets Fucked. I wanted Malik to be fucked up for two years, but it ended up with this fic, which happens during the summer of 2010, ending around late July, early to mid- August. Altair has been carrying a torch for Malik since he joined the Firm in 2003.

I don't have an understanding of how alcoholism works, but I hope Malik is portrayed miserable enough.

I am unsure if I want to do a part three, I am quite content with part two for now. There will be more updates to this verse, this isn't the end, but since Malik has gone on to the road of recovery, it feels like there is a lot less urgency in my writing to the WTBA verse.

The ending of part ii is from the second fic in the series, _Yes, That Will Be All_, but with some changed dialog. I will leave fic 2 as it is for now but may add an amended version at a later date.


	9. BuyBack Guarantee

**Buy-Back Guarantee**

_VIII Desmond/Shaun_

* * *

"Shit!" Shaun exclaimed, and Desmond flipped a page in the psychology book he was perusing. Desmond heard things moving and deigned to look up, and Shaun had his ass in the air as he tried searching for something under the couch.

He enjoyed the view of the fabric stretching over the nice, shapely ass. Graham's nails clicked across the floor as she moved to sniff Shaun's rear and Shaun turned swiftly to snarl at her. Graham recoiled.

"What are you looking for?" Desmond asked, half-reading the cognitive psychology study and half watching Shaun. "And stop scaring Graham."

"Tell the damn mutt to piss off then!" Shaun hissed again, and he was on his hands and knees searching for _something_. Desmond raised his eyebrow and thought about other activities Shaun could be on his knees for. "I'm looking for my bloody flash drive with my bloody thesis paper on it. I can't get my thrice damned doctorate without it!"

Desmond spotted a tiny red jump-drive on the coffee table and kicked his feet up next to it. "I'm sure you'll find it," He said, licking his thumb and turning a page. Graham clicked over and sniffed his feet and then up his leg to his knee. She sat at his feet patiently and, dare he say it, adorably. Shaun stood and walked behind Desmond's chair, leaving Desmond to think about that scrawny English ass in the air once more.

* * *

They fell into a weird eating routine, and normally had dinner (cooked by Desmond, of course) at around ten PM or eleven. Graham would follow Desmond as he shuffled around the kitchen, cutting this or marinating that- Louis would be nearby, often curled on the top of the sofa, one eye closed, the other open and watching him. Fucking creepy cat. Shaun, having found his USB, worked diligently on his thesis, mumbling facts so often, loud enough to have Desmond (completely inadvertantly, of course) clarify if they were correct.

Over the stir-fry that Desmond made ("Old family recipe," he lied), Shaun asked him _that question_.

"Why aren't you at a uni, Desmond? You're certainly smart enough," Had to be the beer talking, because Shaun wouldn't actually _assert_ that sober.

Desmond sighed and put his bowl down on the coffee table, swatting at Graham's nose when she tried to plow in. "I have no interest in college." He said.

Shaun looked over the frames of his glasses incredulously. "You're reading _Neisser_ and _Broadbent_ for _fucking fun_?"

Desmond replied, baffled, "Well, yeah,"

"And there are medical books in the shelves," Shaun accused. "Along with _incredibly _advanced chemistry and biology,"

"Ye-es," Desmond said, stretching the word out long. He saw Louis leap up on the kitchen counter out of the corner of his eye and go to the sink to nest. Shaun stared at Desmond blankly. Graham pawed at his thigh, whining.

"_And_ you can cook,"

"I'm a man of many talents," Desmond agreed.

After a bland staring contest with Desmond, Shaun let out a single and explosive _why_?

Desmond sighed heavily, and decided _fuck it_. "I ran away from my home when I was sixteen. My wicked step-mother or whatever. But my dad married her after mom died, and god was Victoria a cunt. Total bitch. Dad was never home after she came into the picture. Ever. Had him wrapped around her finger-"

"Wait, _Victoria Miles_ is your step-mum?" Shaun interuppted, and Desmond gave him a dirty look. "Meaning that Uther Miles is your fa-" He choked, and his eyes were the size of dinner plates and he made a tiny _shit_ noise in the back of his throat.

"Yes, I was the heir to a multi-billion dollar software company." Desmond said crossly. "After dad and Victoria died, I was eighteen and settled down here. I didn't want the damn company. So I sold it to dad's assistant director who knew a lot more about the company than I did for just that much. Well. Maybe he didn't _know_ more, but he was _interested_ in Miles Software Security, I would've been _bored_. I do still give him tips and test the firewalls though, so I make some money from that. I certainly could afford school, but I didn't graduate highschool. And I don't want to. I donate to the local university and they allow me to sit in on classes I'm interested in, but I don't need a degree. I'm perfectly content where I am now."

Shaun was gaping and Desmond thought it would be nice to stick his cock in that mouth, make Shaun gag, have those lips stretched around the base of his dick and to have him suck-

He picked up his stir-fry from the table and noticed it was now clean. He shot a look at Graham who had shimmied under the sofa.

"That explains the photographers outside the bar occasionally," Shaun said weakly, and Desmond made a noncommital noise in response. "Desmond you're bloody rich and you live like a pauper," Another noise of agreement from Desmond, and then Shaun, quietly, "You designed firewalls?"

"Briefly. I mostly test them now." Desmond replaced his bowl on the low table and leaned back on his chair. Shaun set his own bowl on the table next to the sofa he sat on, then folded his hands in his lap. He shifted around awkwardly. "Well?" Desmond demanded.

Shaun flushed all the way to his ears and mumbled something. He coughed, clearing his throat, and tried again. "I'd very much like to suck your cock now. I am _unbelievably_ turned on."

Desmond swallowed thickly before nodding jerkily. They made eye contact for scant moments longer before Shaun dived over the table onto Desmond's lap, Desmond's arms wrapped around Shaun's back and Shaun using his to brace against the back of the chair. Teeth clanged together as mouthes met at a bad angle, but tongues tied regardless and hands scrambled for the button on Desmond's jeans and zip. Shaun growled into Desmond's mouth and slapped his hands away, fumbling only a moment longer before wrenching the denims open and pulling them down Desmond's hips far enough to release the throbbing prick beneath. Desmond groped Shaun before his hands were swatted away again, and he was frustrated for all of three seconds before Shaun dropped to his knees before Desmond.

Shaun met Desmond's eyes briefly again before wrapping his lips around the head of Desmond's cock. He certainly didn't waste any time, Desmond thought, his hands flexing uselessly on the arms of the chair, every time he reached for Shaun to grab his hair, his shoulder, Shaun would give him a glare (which just looked fucking appealing when Shaun's mouth was halfway down Desmond's cock and he was fucking _sucking_-). As Shaun's head bobbed up and down on his erection, tongue doing unspeakable things to him, Desmond realized that it was impossible to relax while getting a blowjob of this caliber.

"Christ," Desmond wheezed, wondering what Shaun's predilection with eye contact was. He kissed down the underside of Desmond's dick, his eyes trained on Desmond's face. Desmond felt his balls tighten when he saw that clever tongue flick out and lap up his pre-come. One of Shaun's hands brushed against Desmond's leg, on its way into Shaun's pants. _Oh my god Shaun is giving me oral and he's touching himself,_ Desmond thought gleefully, his glee turning into pure arousal when Shaun tongued his balls. Shaun's other lily-white (where the fuck did _that_ come from?) hand wrapped around his cock while Shaun did dirty things to the head. "Shit, gonna come,"

Shaun smirked at that and stroked Desmond's cock while laving his tongue under the head, waiting, expecting, and the thought of coming all over Shaun's face _because Shaun wanted it_ caused the dam to break, and Desmond came harder than ever before, watching as Shaun caught some come on his tongue, on his cheek. _Oh fuck._he looked fucking sexy like that, jesus. Body turned to jelly, Desmond's head fell back and he panted.

"Christ," He said again, eyes still screwed shut. "Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but where did that even come from?"

Shaun helped Desmond to pull up and button his jeans and he placed a kiss on the denim over Desmond's cock again. "I love an intelligent man."

"You philanderer, you know know how to sweet-talk a person, don't you?" Desmond said, still unmoving. He felt Shaun leave, his body heat no longer against Desmond's legs. He heard the man sit down and continue to work on his thesis.

"I'm a very effective person." Shaun replied primly, though when Desmond cracked open an eye he saw the flushed cheeks and pleased expression.

* * *

**Neisser and Broadbent are both cognitive psychologists. **Thank you, Wikipedia.


	10. NOTE

Hello, readers who follow this verse. It has come to my attention that I _absolutely do not_ pay attention to much. So, if you want to see updates to this verse, you will have to leave the murky waters of F^2 and go to AO3, where I am posting all new additions of this universe.

There is a new chapter there, by the way.

You can find a link to my AO3 page in my user profile.

Thanks all that have been reading this here!

Coming soon in the verse: updated/edited versions of the earlier chapters.


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